


Once Fallen, Twice Shy

by late for armageddon (vaulttec)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Comfort, Fluff, Hurt, M/M, Manipulation, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Smut, Yearning, drunk affection, i will edit these as i write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-09-19 00:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20321905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaulttec/pseuds/late%20for%20armageddon
Summary: Two years to to the day have passed since Armageddon was avoided - which is where our story starts. Gabriel offers Crowley a deal that rattles his morality like a bird in a cage. Will he accept his task and get everything he's ever wanted? Or will he continue to forsake himself to keep the peace and accept whatever consequences may come his way?What's the worst that could happen? After all, you can't go to Hell if you're already there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! if you are familiar with my older works, welcome back! if you are new to me entirely, hello new friend. :) this is my first time writing a good omens fanfiction, and my first time writing fics in a GOOD long while, but i hope you enjoy this wild ride of an idea i had one time at 4 am and just ran with.
> 
> find me on tumblr @heavenslittlehellion!  
thank you!
> 
> **please comment/leave kudos if you are enjoying the fic. comments and kudos are what keep me interested in telling this story.**

“So the meeting has come to order.” 

The demon Crowley was doing something in a chair that could only be described as _looming_ \- leaning over a table he had somehow finessed into the middle of the main room of his apartment, elbows supporting tented fingers that he pressed his lips to pensively. Slitted gaze darted to the occupied seats, a slow breath drawn in through his nose and let out in an agitated huff. “Now you probably know why I’ve called you all here. And I appreciate that some of you have taken time out of your _busy schedules_ to join me.” Here there was a pause, Crowley making an attempt to look sympathetic. It was gone in the briefest of moments -- he didn't have time for that. “I’ll cut right to the chase. Believe me when I say it truly _pains_ me to be saying this.” Hands spread across the tabletop, the demon straightening his back to sit up taller in an attempt to seem more imposing. “A traitor lies amongst us. And something must be done about it.” 

The tension had grown thick upon the air, as it usually did in situations like these, instantly oppressive and uncomfortable. A rustle of unease rose in the room at this, and Crowley narrowed his eyes - gaze once again sweeping over the figures crowded around the table. “Oh I know what you’re thinking,” he began again, a slow, methodical drum of his nails beginning up against the dark lacquered wood, “‘Crowley’, you’re thinking,” and his voice took on a frightened falsetto, “‘why would we harbor a fugitive?’ Or, or. ‘Crowley, there can’t _possibly_ be a traitor!’ _Well._” Fingers teased the fabric of his breast pocket, glaring across the table at the occupant of the seat opposite his as a knowing grin spread across his face. “I have _evidence._” He stood himself up with a downward shove and a glower, lifting a knee to support himself as he climbed _on top_ of the table, crawling across the sleek surface. “I have _evidence,”_ he repeated in a growl, “that _proves_ to us _**someone**_ is not cooperating.” 

On hand and bended knee, he made his way across the table; blessing in a grumble the entire time before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his ‘evidence’. “THERE! You see??” He held it up in front of the chair’s occupant, who quivered silently in response. His hand closed into a fist with a crunch, and tiny pieces of dead, crumpled leaves rained out of his palm. Hand, now empty, reached out to grasp the stalk of the offending plant, hoisting it up into the air to glare at it. “You think I wouldn’t _notice? Care?”_ Turning, ass on the table now, he held the plant up for the rest of the gathered greenery to see. “You all know what happens when one of you misbehaves.” He grew silent to let them think about what they’d done, and mull over the folly of their fellow foliage. 

“I don’t,” came a voice from nearby the door, and Crowley spun on the spot to see a very _comfortable_-looking Gabriel leaning against the wall, his brows lofted in interest. “But I’m simply _dying_ to know. Do go on.”

The demon’s surprise was quickly masked by fury, and he threw the plant back into the chair to swing long legs around and dangle them off the edge of the table unimpeded. A smooth motion brought him on flat ground, and he stared the angel down. “We don’t knock?” He gestured at the door. “I haven’t invited you in. Get out.”

“I’m not a _vampire,_ demon Crowley. I don’t _need_ to be invited. You’re lucky enough I used the door at all.” With a look that suggested something nasty was under his nose, he glanced around the room. “Not accounting for taste, this place isn’t that bad. But I guess we can’t _all_ be blessed.”

“Yeah, Heaven’s real big on fancy.” Said with no amount of flat sarcasm, of course. Crowley rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that much. Completely unrelated, have you ever been to an Apple store?”

“Humans have an entire store _just_ for apples?” The genuine surprise in Gabriel’s tone and look almost made Crowley snort, but he’d grown weary of the banter, and fell right back into being aggravated his personal space, his _home_, had been invaded. Not to mention Heaven and its band of merry assholes lent cause to the reason why he enjoyed his green thumb so much in the first place. Long after being exiled, the grip of Hell's rule on him left him feeling little control over his own being sometimes. He transferred that tyranny to plants. Having something depend on, _fear_ him, was his own personal sliver of control. It rubbed him entirely the wrong way that Gabriel was witness to this, and he wanted him gone. 

“Okay, enough fun time. Leave.” He stepped in closer, trying to impose himself into Gabriel’s space. But the damn idiot wouldn’t _move._ “I have no interest in anything you have to say to me, so don’t waste your _gilded_ breath.”

“Oh oh, not true.” Gabriel flashed a millionaire’s smile at him, holding up a finger, purple eyes glinting dangerously. “I’m here to talk about _Aziraphale.”_

It wasn’t clear whether or not Crowley was just that fast, or Gabriel hadn’t bothered to fight him off, but in an instant the angel was pinned against the wall with Crowley’s forearm holding him in place. With their faces as close together as they were, the demon was sure even his sunglasses couldn't have hidden the fury in his eyes. 

“You listen,” he growled, “I know with my current standing I mean nothing to you. But maybe a threat will hold some weight.” Eyes narrowed, teeth bared, and he felt the heat of blistering anger creep up his spine, spinning venom into his words. “Don’t you _ever_ say his name again. Don’t _think_ it. Don’t consider speaking of him in my presence again. Or at all. The next time I catch you, even for an _instant_ looking like you’re going to say something _remotely_ related to Aziraphale I have no problem hunting you for sport like the lowly, disgusting, _vile_ rodent you are. And when I’m through with you, I’ll leave you as a pile of waste and bone so acrid Judas himself wouldn’t want anything to do with you. And you’ll discorporate. And you’ll come back. And I’ll do it again. And again. And _again_. Until you learn that I am _not_ joking. When I say. Leave. Aziraphale. Out of-”

The angel wheezed gently. “What if I told you it could mean the two of you could… I dunno, be together?” 

All the vitriol and rage Crowley had been building steam with suddenly hit a brick wall, and the kinetic energy made him blink; the blow forming the first crack in his façade since Gabriel had gotten here. And through that crack the tiniest sliver of hope gleamed. But he snarled instead, sliding Gabriel along the wall and shoving him out the open door. “No.” It was final, it was cold. “Get out.” 

Gabriel’s reaction was to pull a pout, and it enraged Crowley that his burst of violence had crescendoed into nothing but Gabriel acting like he’d only _hurt his feelings._ The angel then had the audacity to press. “You sure?” 

“Are you waiting for a parting gift or something?” Crowley spat, anger simmering into irritation. He went over to the table, plucking the traitorous growth from the seat opposite the head and shoving it against the light grey suit hard enough to jostle the dirt. He took petty pride in the dark smear that appeared after he did so. He waved a hand. “Fuck off you go.” And he slammed the door. 

Left alone with his plants and his thoughts, he caught his breath; waiting for the anger that made his hands shake to leave his system entirely. The process was a bit of a slow one, a silent thirty seconds or so passing before he felt collected enough to continue with what he'd been doing. Or, rather, conclude the meeting now that the bastard plant was gone and return the rest of the well-behaved ones to their rightful spots. As he began this task though, of all things to interrupt him this time, the phone rang. With a parting glare to said door, he moved to the desk, picking it up before the answering machine could. 

"Crowley!" Came the familiar, excited voice from the end of the line. 

"Angel," the demon hissed, eyes immediately darting to the door as if Gabriel would manifest in his living room again just hearing the word, "what is it?" 

The tone that greeted him sounded gently crestfallen. "You don't remember? Today was our… We were going to celebrate. Though Anathema can't make it, and Adam's grounded, but I figured at the very least you and I could do something! Oh, Crowley, I can't believe you forgot-" 

"No, nope. Didn't forget." Right. The anniversary of not-armageddon. The second, to be exact. The lack of response from the end of the other line told him there was more he should be saying. “...And it was my turn to pick the fun time activity.” Somehow managing to keep the questioning inflection out of his voice, he raised a brow in hopes that was what Aziraphale was looking for. 

“Yes! We went bowling last year. I had never been and thought it would be fun. And oh, it was! Everyone had quite a spectacular time. I especially enjoyed the little arcade the place had. I miss those, arcades. You don’t quite see them anymore… They used to be everywhere. Children with their ribbons of tickets, the rows upon rows of prizes... Oh, it was wonderful.” The nostalgic sigh that followed made up Crowley’s mind instantly on where to take him. Which he was grateful for - he _had_ forgotten, and had made exactly zero plans. 

“Yep, wonderful. When can I expect youuuu...?” He turned as he spoke, remembering mid-sentence that his living room was occupied by the strangest board meeting known to mankind. Though he wondered honestly if Aziraphale would even question it. “Scratch that, I’ll meet you at yours. Twenty minutes?” 

“I’ll be there with bells on. See you soon, my dear!” 

He hung up without saying goodbye and grabbed his jacket, wondering how easy it would be to make reservations at a hotel restaurant he planned on showing up to with no prior notice. 

“Easy,” he muttered to himself, heading down to his car, slipping his sunglasses on as he walked, “I’m Antony J Crowley. I _always_ get what I want.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your patience in the conflict reveal! and thank you for sticking with me, i'm still trying to figure out this writing thing again ^^
> 
> and finally big thank you to my friend nathan for some dialogue help in this chapter :*
> 
> please remember to kudos and comment, your interest helps keep me interested too!

As questionable as it may have been for two seemingly middle-aged men to pop out of a public restroom stall together, Crowley felt that it was the least peculiar thing this establishment had probably seen all day. They had traveled by miracle to the east coast of the United States to a raucous location known infamously as Atlantic City to celebrate not-mageddon at the demon’s behest, and he intended to make the day as memorable as possible for reasons perhaps not wholly related to the day itself. 

“I must say,” Aziraphale began, washing his hands despite having done nothing to warrant it in the stall(though one might argue touching _anything_ in a men’s room in a casino was cause enough), “I certainly didn’t anticipate you bringing me across the pond, as they call it. You have been here before?”

Crowley handed him a paper towel to dry his hands with, nodding as he glanced around the bathroom. Rather underwhelming, for a casino. He debated adding some naughty graffiti to spice it up a bit, but ultimately decided against it. “Yeah. Few years ago. It’s almost like Vegas lite, with a few less…” He scrunched his nose, trying to find a sensible turn of phrase. “Ladies and gentlemen of the evening.” The soft ‘oh’ of surprise from the angel made him snort a bit, and he held open the door for him as they exited. 

They were deposited into a veritable circus of light and colour, bells and whistles and other sounds going off from all directions. Jackpots being won. People losing their houses or cars to craps and blackjack. It was the exact kind of chaos the demon thrived in. “You know, Crowley,” Aziraphale began, looking around the show floor with no small sense of wonder on his face, “I have never seen the inside of a casino before. Those upstairs aren’t too fond of gambling.” The chuckle he offered was more nervous than he wanted it to be, Crowley could tell. “But I do enjoy the aesthetic.” The demon watched him look down at himself, and frown gently. “Though I am afraid I stick out a bit like a sore thumb here.” 

Offering his arm, Crowley shook his head with a ‘nahh.’ “I assure you that you’ll be the _least_ suspicious-looking person here once we get outside. Nothing to worry about.”

“I suppose that’s comforting…” the angel hummed, “though I’m more concerned now with how many shady people other than _you_ will be about here.”

“I promise I’m the shadiest person here by default.” Which was true by the sheer virtue of him simply existing. (Which was definitely an ironic way to put it.)

He did his best to hide the small delight that came with the angel taking his arm, and instead occupied himself with the sight of a nearby man evidently debating on whether or not he should buy more chips. “Can’t win if you don’t play,” he murmured to him suggestively, clicking his tongue and winking. The swat he felt on his arm earned a hiss and a scowl, and his attention returned to Aziraphale. “What? Just a little temptation. Nothing major. Well within his right to say no and move on.” He got a reproachful look in reply, and sighed. “I can’t help what I _am,_ angel.” He paused, giving a look of his own. “Really? Never? Until just now?”

“Yes, really, never, until just now. Not on purpose, anyway. Don’t change the subject, I’m _reprimanding_ you.” The half-hearted irritation that he tried to push into his voice made Crowley laugh, the demon leaning over to a tray a waitress was walking by with to pluck two champagne flutes off and offering him one.

“I know you are. Yes, yes, I’m terrible, evil, a blight upon humanity. Champagne?”

Clearly not about to let a make believe argument get in the way of what was no doubt expensive alcohol, the angel took the flute with a huff of what Crowley could only call resignation. “Yes. Thank you.” 

Crowley tilted his flute towards him in a modest toast. “To fun. And preventing what was previously thought to be _ineffable.”_ There was definitely a smug sort of pride in those words. Not that he exactly enjoyed proving Aziraphale _wrong,_ but he maybe took some satisfaction in the fact that not everything had to be the way it was ‘supposed’ to be.

“To… To that.” A slight furrowing of brows accompanied the angel’s toast, but he gave in as easily as Crowley thought he might.

Clinking glasses gave him the green light to down the flute in one go, the demon giving a soft ‘ahh’ of refreshment before setting the glass on top of a garbage bin. He watched Aziraphale quickly do the same, and took it from him to let it join the other. With the inaugural drink out of the way, he made quick work of leading them through the casino, past more blackjack and roulette tables, and eventually down a staircase to a set of glass doors. 

The sight that greeted them made the old serpent grin, and the soft gasp of awe from Aziraphale only made him grin harder. A boardwalk stretched for what seemed like forever, both to the left and right of them, jam packed with storefronts, tourists and regulars, carts of food, and even a few spry youngins toting people to and fro on pedal carts. “Pick a way to go, angel. I know factually there are things to do in every direction.”

“Oh… My, decisions. Ah, let’s go…. left.” At this, the angel took his hand, and gently began walking them in the direction he had stated. Now, Crowley was far too _old_ to blush like a schoolgirl, though age made no exceptions for demons blushing like flustered old _men._ Just a little, maybe the tips of his ears or the apples of his cheeks. Nothing more, nothing less, and he coolly hid the shift in colour by glancing out towards the direction of the ocean first, as if considering, then nodding towards the left as he was tugged. 

“Left is good,” he agreed, “I know there’s a giant candy store down here. Gourmet stuff. Right up your alley.”

True to his word, the two of them ended up at a large, colourful candy shop, and Crowley internally gripped his chest at the sheer excitement _radiating_ off Aziraphale. He had to double down to convince himself it wasn’t anything special, the angel got excited about the prospect of something tasty and edible all the time, but it was not an easy battle. “Maybe they’ve taken my picture down by now,” he mused quietly, peering into the windows to try and get a glimpse behind the registers.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, “what did you do?”

“I didn’t steal,” he assured with a glance over his glasses. “Not _money,_ at least. Just… More than my fair share of tastes here and there.” He grimaced just a tiny bit, recalling the incident. Not with any shame, of course. It was just enough of a rapscallion's prank that Aziraphale might disapprove, and that made him regret opening his mouth about it to begin with, just the tiniest bit. But he plodded on. “And I maybe swapped the sweets for sours. ...And tied all the ribbon candies together. Just to see if I could.” A feeble grin was the response to the tired, short sigh he'd earned, and Crowley opened the door for him with the same sheepish politeness he’d been using to avoid the angel’s mild ire all morning.

“No mischief.” And said angel entered the store with Crowley in tow.

“No mischief,” the promise came. And his fingers weren’t even crossed.

\----

No mischief managed. Though with a more playful nature, Crowley had slipped away to purchase a box of chocolates that Aziraphale had been eyeing without him catching on, sliding them discreetly into the inside pocket of his jacket before the two reunited by the door. The angel had sampled quite a number of sweets at Crowley’s insistence, even allowing the honor to be hand-fed them. (Which put a number of thoughts into the demon’s head. Most of them even managed to be innocent.)

Aziraphale excitedly showed off the sweets he’d gotten, professing a nearly sinful attraction to salt water taffy as he did so. It made Crowley smile, and a short chat later they had decided to end the evening with wine at the bookstore to enjoy them together. Hands held once again as they exited the shop, he saw the angel visibly perk up. “Oh, my. That was a strong one.”

Crowley raised a brow. “A strong one what?”

“A wave of love, my dear. I wonder if a new couple just walked in.” 

“Hmm.” The sound a little higher than anticipated, he wished he had the ability to just _shut that off._ It was easy to forget that the angel was sensitive to that kind of thing, and it was annoying being so transparent sometimes. “Perhaps.”

“It’s such a wonderful feeling, love.” He spoke almost as if the demon had no sense of it, and in a way that sort of hurt. “It’s very strong out here. Though I suppose many humans consider beaches to be a bit romantic.”

“Yeah… That they do.” 

Maybe, after so many years, Aziraphale could forget now and again that Crowley had been an angel at one point, too. He was capable of feeling love. He was capable of feeling love like Aziraphale could. Or, rather, he had been. No longer conditioned to see or feel the love in literally everything around him, that sort of sixth sense had faded with time. But it didn’t mean he was unfamiliar with it. No, no… He was _quite_ familiar with it, thank you. So familiar it almost felt a bit like a punishment, sometimes. The angel hadn’t meant anything by it, Crowley knew that. The tone had just hit him in the perfect way to make him feel _guilty_ about it, of all things. He hadn’t much more to add to the topic, but the sight of a food stall picked the conversation back up for him. “Are you hungry? I mean, you’re not, we don’t _get_ hungry -” He waved his hand in annoyance, scowling. “Eat. Would you like to eat something.”

Aziraphale only chuckled, patting his arm gently. “Yes, Crowley. I’d love to.” 

Overcoming his small embarrassment with a huff, he led them to not the stall he’d seen, but a storefront a few doors down - boasting a number of foods displayed on large pictures in the windows. Once inside, he stepped up to the counter, and without hearing a word from the angel placed orders for them. Nothing fancy or outrageous, but rather... comforting and simple - fish and chips. Fun to see how Americans did it, he figured. And Aziraphale might end up getting a kick out of it.

“Oh. And, eh… Two of those.” He wiggled his fingers at a display of alcoholic drinks. “Surprise me.”

“Oh? Are we getting drunk already?”

Crowley snorted. “On _these?_ We’d need ten more apiece.” Though it’d take nothing to make something a little stronger appear. “...Unless you _want_ to get drunk.”

“Oh! Oh no, of course not,” the angel shook his head, “I meant if we were getting started. I find getting a little silly a fine idea. But later, in private.” 

Well. He certainly walked right into that one. Crowley grinned, raising a brow. “Saucy.”

He got another gentle, back-handed swat to his arm. “No! Not saucy, you snake. You know very well what I mean.”

The swat made him laugh. “Oh, angel, you’re so easy to tease. You know I’m mostly harmless. But you’re right. We do talk about things, eh…” He jerked his head a little at the man behind the counter that was now making their food. “Most _people_ wouldn’t understand.” 

“Yes, quite right. And I know you’re harmless, but-” Aziraphale huffed softly, lowering his voice. “It’s _inappropriate.”_

“Oh, _angel.”_ A bell dinged, and a tray of food appeared in front of them. Crowley took it, nodding his thanks but grinning at Aziraphale again. “When have you _ever_ known me to be appropriate?”


	3. Chapter 3

It was sometime between right now now and just a few centuries ago that Crowley realized something. Calling Aziraphale ‘angel’ had, at some point, stopped being a derogatorily curt term to de-familiarize himself by just referring to him by what he was. It had instead become, fully, a term of endearment. Why now, of all times, he decided to dwell on that was a complete mystery to him - but the circumstances of their courtship today had been hitting him in stranger ways than usual. Maybe it was the leering threat of Gabriel showing up to ruin their fun, or maybe he was just getting _old._

Either way, the epiphany, old or new, distracted him enough that he hadn’t paid a single bit of attention to any of the fun things they were passing.

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale gasped, stopping Crowley with his arm and pointing at a large display they nearly breezed right past. It looked like a travelling art installment, some kind of tent pop-up with a few chambers that boasted a sign promising to show ‘the wonders of space, and other oddities.’ It seemed kitschy, but then again humans loved kitschy. So much so that they’d created a word to describe perfectly the devotion to the specific brand of eccentricity. Hope laced the tone he heard next. “Can we have a look?”

Crowley made a ‘go ahead’ gesture with a bit of an extra flourish, following him into the ‘exhibit’ with low expectations. It was outside, in a pop up tent. How impressive could it be?

As if the exhibit itself had some kind of vendetta against those unwilling to believe a pop-up could provide entertainment enough for an afternoon, his attention was stolen almost immediately by a glassed-in exhibit of what was initially promised - wonders of space. Though it wasn’t much to do with things _in_ space, or even _from_ space. More or less it was full of things that had been _to_ space, and had come back. Which… All in all, was fairly impressive. “Always interesting to see the lengths humans will go to explore things out of their reach,” he murmured, pointing at a few things behind the glass. Space food, pieces of space suits, a book. Even some moon dust - which, frankly, Crowley would admit was rather cool to see up close. And he corrected himself - it was, indeed, _from_ space. Exhibit 1, Crowley 0.

Aziraphale ran his hand over the small placard on the edge of the glass cabinet. “It makes you wonder if they’ll ever make it beyond this solar system. There are so many wonderful things for them to see.” He smiled over at Crowley. “Do you remember when we were making stars?” His eyes twinkled like nothing else. “How beautiful they still are today.”

“Yeah…” Crowley remembered it fondly as well. Just recently he had been having similar thoughts, too. How the stars were still almost the same, even after so long. They weren’t the only thing that remained mostly unchanged after so many millennia. Unfortunately. He smiled, albeit a little distantly. “The nebulas are my favorite.” The Pillars of Creation continued to be his favorite, to this day. It amused him to no end that humans found such beauty in them, and continually strived to take better, nicer, clearer pictures of them.

Aziraphale nodded, also smiling. “Yes, I imagine they would be. You designed a good lot of them, as I recall.” He paused, thoughtfully. “You did an amazing job. They’re incredibly beautiful.”

Crowley’s own smile turned a little wan, and he glanced over at the angel. “Does it surprise you?” He asked quietly, resting a hand on the glass, looking back into it again. “How beautiful they are? ...I wonder what humans would think if they knew something like _me_ made something like _that.”_

The angel’s reply was quiet, and sounded careful. Yet still seemingly effortless. “It doesn’t surprise me at all, my dear. They’re wonderful. Something to be proud of.” Crowley both felt and heard Aziraphale move closer to him. “Love-” he began, nearly bumping elbows with him in his haste, “...you put love into them. Of course humans think they’re wondrous and beautiful. You put love into them and what you are has no bearing on that.” 

A soft, humorless laugh left the demon at that reply, though he had no intentions of hurting Aziraphale’s feelings or belittling his attempt at lifting his spirits - which had fallen without him really even realizing it. And on their _date_, of all things. Mm. An amazing job. He glanced over at the angel again, thankful once more for his sunglasses. Love… He put it into a lot more than creating nebulas and galaxies. And it was a serious amount of effort to keep him from _feeling_ it so much right now, after what Aziraphale had said to him. ...He wanted to kiss him, and that only served to complicate things further. “Yeah?” Voice was still quiet, grateful they were the only people in the exhibit. “I suppose that’s the only thing that matters, right? That I put love into them.” 

He felt the angel’s hand on his outstretched arm, fingertips pressing against the glass just a little at the contact. “Yes. Love is in everything if you truly enjoy doing it. My dear, humans _love_ what you created. And they would love it regardless of whether or not they knew who or what created it.” That hand squeezed, and Crowley drew in a breath. “They’re perfect as they are. And I… I won’t have you thinking otherwise.”

And between them, Crowley could swear, ‘they’ could just as easily have been swapped with ‘you’, and the sentiment would have remained the same. He still wanted to kiss him. It was still a bad idea. Yet the desire grew, and lingered, despite him _knowing_ it was a bad idea.

“Thank you, angel.”

A helpful smile spread just slightly on Aziraphale’s face. “You’re welcome, Crowley.”

It was a quick motion. Negligible, really. But free hand moved to take up the angel’s before it could be pulled away, and Crowley pressed a chaste kiss to the back of his knuckles before releasing it. He felt better, somewhat, discharging that small bit of affection. But it would only tide him over for so long, and he knew this, but it was better than stewing all day and having it let off in a burst of unfiltered nonsense come their evening drink.

He didn’t wait for what he was sure would be an adorable response, be it a private smile of enjoyment or a flustered sputter. He instead turned on his heel, heading towards the next exhibit primed and ready for observation. Better, this way, than to inadvertently tempt himself into doing more to provoke another, similar reaction.

The chamber they entered contained a large number of taxidermied animals of all shapes and sizes and… deformities. A two-headed calf. A cyclops goat. Crowley made some interesting faces at them all, even momentarily poking his tongue out - the muscle looking much like that of a serpent’s. It earned him another gentle swat.

“Crowley!” But he heard giggles in the scolding. “Get that thing back in your mouth before a human comes in here and sees it. You’ll end up on display yourself.” 

“I can see it now,” the demon mused, lifting his hands and spreading his fingers as if spreading a grand sign, _”Ssssssnake Man.”_

More giggles. “Oh, you deserve to be put on display for something much more grand than snake man. Though I can’t quite think of anything off the top of my head right now. I’ll get back to you on that.” 

“Sexiest demon,” Crowley supplied instantly, snapping his fingers at the realization. “That’s it. It’s perfect.” Aziraphale made a little sound, putting his hand over Crowley’s snapping fingers.

“Be careful with that,” he scolded quietly, clearly trying to hide his smile. “Though given the company you tend to keep I might have to agree with you.”

“Only might?” The demon pouted. “Hastur and Ligur were never much to look at.” He saw Aziraphale visibly shiver. 

“You’re far easier on the eyes, yes.” Crowley didn’t even have time to preen under the compliment or moon over the implications before the angel spoke again, curiosity in his tone. “Why is that?”

“...Eh? I mean we both know we can look however we want-”

“No no, not that. I mean…” Aziraphale’s fingers lifted, wiggling at his own temple a bit. “The… Ah. _Headgear.”_

It made him pause, thinking deeply as the question was posed. All the demons he’d known and met - and he’d known and met a _lot_ of them - all had… Well, some kind of little… critter. That they chose to show off. Beelzebub of course had the fly. Hastur and Ligur, a toad and chameleon respectively. (Though, admittedly, he found it really very _cool_ that Ligur’s eyes would change with the chameleon’s colours. He always wished he could do that.) But the question only brought up another instead of an answer. “How come you don’t look like you lost a fight with a gold confetti glitter bomb?” 

Aziraphale looked a little taken aback, blinking and opening his mouth as if he had a reply ready. He didn’t, that much was obvious, and his mouth closed again. “I don’t… want to.” And he looked around as if someone might be eavesdropping. “Not that it isn’t… I mean, not that it doesn’t look _nice_ on some of them, but… I just don’t think it’s right for me.” His voice lowered. “And I think it would look tacky.” 

“So it’s because we don’t want to,” Crowley tried to confirm. He never really gave it much thought. Or rather, if he did, it was so long ago he’d forgotten the initial reason and just stuck with it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted Gabriel didn't really adhere to the dress code much either. He could have written it off as simply vanity if Gabriel didn't strike him as exactly the type to feel _above_ branding himself like that.

“You don’t suppose… It’s because we…” The angel’s mouth ticked in a thoughtful little purse, as if he didn’t want to say what he was thinking out loud. “Never really…” He trailed off, and Crowley was left to pick up the slack. Pensive, he was quiet another long moment before he realized it was because Aziraphale _didn’t_ want to say what he was thinking. Primarily because he didn’t want to admit to it. 

“Never really wanted to rally for the home team?” He supplied, glancing over at him. Aziraphale’s lips pursed harder, and the demon stared at them unabashedly.

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” the angel breathed, shaking his head, “maybe just… You don’t sport your team’s colours in a new town. It’s less… conspicuous.”

Crowley, thinking on _that_ now, nodded slowly. “Yeah. I suppose not.” In the terms Aziraphale had presented him with, the demon had been traded off. Perhaps deserved, though still against his will. He didn't sport the team spirit because he was maybe more bitter than most about being foisted into the hands of the opposition, and being branded and identifiable as such was... Not ideal. He’d definitely made the most of it all these years, and for his effort had gotten commendations. And... Well. The _honor_ of delivering the Antichrist. But he wondered if he ever really did fit the bill in spite of it all. 

Why did their talks always circle back to this.

“Sexiest demon.” He forced the circle back to a much more self-satisfying topic. “You think they’d have to stuff me for it?”

“You’re full of yourself enough already, my dear.” And Aziraphale patted his arm. “I doubt there would be room to do much of anything at all.”

To which Crowley cackled, and almost immediately felt better.

They marveled over the remaining few exhibits in this part of the tent, and the angel began chattering about something Crowley could not pay full attention to.

“Yeah yeah,” he replied distractedly, “I’m going to go see if they've got a postcard, or something. I’ll be right along.” The angel smiled at him, and shooed him away.

Crowley was not looking for a postcard. He was looking for the source of the _sleaze_ that suddenly stank up the place that _wasn’t_ coming from him. 

Sure enough. The source was lurking around the next corner, pretending to examine a model of Pluto made entirely out of chewing gum or something equally as gross. Without saying a word, Crowley hooked his arm in the crook of Gabriel’s elbow, jerking him between two overlapping flaps of the tent to drag him outside.

“Demon Crowley,” Gabriel managed, having sense enough to keep his voice low, “twice in as many days, what a blessed coincidence.”

“Enough.” Crowley let him go, immediately stepping back and wiping off his hand as if he’d touched something filthy. “I already told you. I am not interested in anything you have to say.” Gabriel looked as if he were about to speak, and Crowley snapped his fingers with an upward jerk, immediately sealing his mouth shut. “I have done my very best to keep you out of my mind on our special day. But you pervade my every sense right now and I hope you appreciate the restraint I’m exercising in not throwing you into the ocean.”

Gabriel wiped his mouth, and with the motion he could speak again. Tragic. And once again only acted as though Crowley had mildly inconvenienced him with his antics.

“Beelzebub and I-”

Astonishment of a mild degree pulled Crowley’s face. “You’re still in contact with Beezles?”

Gabriel matched his expression with disbelief thrown in. “...You call Beelzebub... Beezles.” He let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “I can’t believe you call Beelzebub ‘Beezles’.”

“I can’t believe you’re _hanging out_ with Beezles. What the Heaven kind of bureaucratic nonsense is that? You still want to start a war, it’ll begin with you fraternizing with the-” And he made air quotes here, _”enemy.”_

Damn. Eternal damnation. The smile that swept onto Gabriel’s face was enough to put an almost comical frown on his own. “And you’d know _lots_ about that, wouldn’t you, demon Crowley?”

Crowley scowled so deeply he felt his teeth grinding together, doubling over in frustration with a growl before a bit of a _swoop_ brought him to stand up straight again. “Go away. I’m done talking to you.” As he began to turn, he felt the shoe he had been intending to spin on stick fast to the ground, and looked back at the angel - who had a bright, sardonic smile on his face. 

“Afraid not. You’ll give me three minutes of your time. Or, I’ll let myself into that goofy little tent and tell Muffin in there it’s time to go.” He held up a lantern then, an old-timey thing, and Crowley knew instantly that what powered it currently was Hellfire. Still, that smile remained. “By force, if necessary.” His unoccupied hand lifted, mimicking crying. “Boo hoo, no more playdates.” 

Crowley unstuck his shoe, turning to face him fully once more, drawing in a breath through clenched teeth. “Two minutes, or I’ll miracle us both out of here.”

“Splendid.” Gabriel made the lantern disappear, and held his hands together, pointing them at him. “We know there’s things going on between the two of you. Whatever it is, you can keep that to yourself. Because frankly? Ew. And we’d _like_ to…” Hands parted, waving in circles as he searched the air for what Crowley could only guess was the most diplomatic term he could think of. “Demote him? Does that sound right? But we can’t. Not officially. There’s a lot of paperwork involved, some kind of _pension_ I think, for all his years of service-”

“You mean to tell me Heaven doesn’t encourage a 401k?” Crowley snorted. “Now _that_ is evil.”

Gabriel's nose wrinkled in disgust. “Don’t make jokes, demon. I hate when you make jokes.” He shook his head in a short, dismissive motion. _”Anyway,_ we can’t officially get rid of him. And we’re so _tired_ of him walking this thin line of _maybe_ being good enough to represent us Upstairs. We have high standards. And _I get it,_ nobody’s perfect, right?” The smirk told Crowley that was meant to be a jab at him, and he showed his own teeth in a snarl. “We just want you to help us out a bit. Which, really,” he held out his palm, pointing at him with his whole hand, “is more like helping _you_ out, if you think about it.”

He did not want to think about it. But he did anyway, and didn’t like how it was starting to make him feel. He sensed that Gabriel was picking up on this, because the smile returned, and he continued.

“See, if you do this, help us out, Aziraphale can keep doing… Whatever it is that he’s doing. With you! And wants to _keep_ doing. ...With you! So the benefit outweighs whatever kind of… problems the two of you would have with it, right? Temptation is your _thing_. Just… Push it a little more. Can’t be that hard. Just another little nudge or two and he’ll Fall. Right into place. Wiiiiiith… You guessed it!” Two finger guns were pointing at him now. “You!”

A caustic taste filled his mouth, and he had pre-regrets about his next question, but asked anyway. A question got him into this mess. What was one more? "What does Beelzebub have to do with any of this?"

"Oh! This is the _best_ part." He spread his hands in front of him like some kind of demented game show host, eyes shining as if explaining the grand prize. "Beelzebub has agreed to take Aziraphale into an immediate position in your clearance level. We both think the two of you will work better if neither one of you outranks the other.” He held his hands out, as if offering Crowley the world, smile now encouraging and expectant. “Well? Is that not just _miraculous?”_

In response, Crowley lifted his arm, tapping his watch. With no parting insults or scathing glares, he headed back into the tent. Despite his rather underwhelming departure, he heard Gabriel’s voice whisper directly in his ear: **_’Think about it, demon Crowley.’_** He whirled around with a snarl, but the angel was gone.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s curious voice came through the ‘hall’ of the tent, and Crowley turned to him with as pleasant a smile as he could manage. Though disappointment came to the angel’s face as he saw his empty hands. “Oh, no postcard?”

Oh. Right. Postcard. 

“Not here. Guess this isn’t cool enough to make postcards of.” Why would there be a postcard here, anyway?

“I suppose we could get one from one of those little shops.” The angel stepped up, offering his arm this time with a smile. “Shall we, then?”

Mind a heavy mess of what had just transpired over the past two minutes(and four seconds, that bastard), he put all his effort into forcing it out of his mind. He still had a date to enjoy, and the promise of getting plastered later to forget Gabriel entirely was good enough to placate him for now. He took the arm, other hand shoving into his pocket, and let Aziraphale lead them out of the tent.


	4. Chapter 4

Their journey took them to what had initially sparked Crowley’s interest in coming to the boardwalk, and the feeling he got watching Aziraphale’s eyes light up at the big marquee stating ‘ARCADE’ proudly in shimmering lights was enough to have him forgetting about Gabriel and his offer almost entirely. With enough leftover elation to practically float him over the threshold of the opened door. 

Another assault on all the senses, lights and sound and _popcorn_, from a little machine, the smell of it - surrounded them. It was chaos, like the casino, but a more controlled chaos. Gambling for children. For tokens and tickets and trinkets and - 

_”Oh,”_ Crowley gasped in a low voice, eyes wide as the moon, catching sight of a _particular_ prize behind the counter, manned by a very lonely, very bored looking attendant. “That. I _need_ that.” More precisely, he decided, _Aziraphale_ needed it, and Crowley was about to do everything in his power short of cheating (maybe just a little?) to get it for him. Excitedly, he patted the angel’s shoulders, a gleeful little sound following him as he zipped over to a token machine and began feeding it bills.

“Come now,” Aziraphale chided gently, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a rather plump bag of tokens that Crowley was sure hadn’t been in there before, “you covered lunch. Allow me to take care of this.” The bag was offered, and the demon looked between it and the angel, almost disappointed he couldn’t spend his _own_ money to win the prize he wanted for him. The machine was already spitting out tokens, and Crowley politely pushed the bag back at him. “Go have fun, angel. You said you missed arcades. I’ll be along.” Aziraphale looked, for just a moment, as if he didn’t want to wander off too far by himself, but the sound of one of the games calling for the next big winner did get him to turn around and head off towards it after giving a very fond pat to Crowley’s back. Seizing the opportunity to get his way, the demon stuffed his pocket full of tokens, and strutted towards the nearest skee-ball machine. 

The arcade had clearly been established some years ago, evident in the way the floor creaked as Crowley stepped onto the skee-ball lane and headed up to the little baskets after getting his skee-balls. All of them were cradled in his arm, and with a glance to the ticket counter to make sure the attendant wasn’t looking, he reached under the netting and began dropping them one by one into the highest-scoring hole. Watching with glee as the score racked up and proclaimed that he had the highest of the day, he hopped back down the lane, greedily snatching up tickets as the game spit them out. This practice was repeated several times, with numerous breaks to leap away from the lane to avoid getting caught, but he eventually had enough tickets to get the prize he’d been eyeballing since they got there.

He found Aziraphale a few minutes after that, proudly marching up to him and draping a _gigantic_ stuffed animal snake, purple and red, over his shoulders. “Hiya angel,” he greeted cheerfully, “I _won_ you something.”

The angel turned to face him, beaming brightly, holding up what looked like a small, round, rubber frog. “And _I_ won _you_ something, my dear!” The pride in his voice could have made the demon tear up on the spot, and the little frog that was offered to him was taken and immediately promised all the protection in the world. It was squishy, and made an odd little squawk when squeezed, and Crowley was nearly bowled over by the notion that Aziraphale was presenting him with a gift. “It took me quite a few tokens from that machine over there-” And the angel shot a bit of a sour look towards a claw machine, of all things, “but I’m rather proud of it.” Ignoring Crowley on the verge of an emotional breakdown, he studied the snake stuffed animal that laid across his shoulders like a mink stole, or a feather boa. “Oh, it looks like you when we first met.” He picked up the head, booping the goofy-looking nose with a pleased sound. “There we are.”

Without realizing it, the demon wrinkled his nose in reply. “It does!” he proclaimed, “it’s for you. And you’re not allowed to get rid of it or you’ll hurt my feelings.” The comment was spoken to the toy frog he couldn’t stop fawning over, but he knew Aziraphale heard him, because he heard the angel chuckle in response. And the demon smiled at that, looking over at him again.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll find the perfect place for him in my shop. It’ll be like you’re always there.”

_’I could be,’_ Crowley thought. But he said nothing, still smiling. He never said anything. Well, there were those times, he supposed asking him to _run away_ with him could count as something, but they were as brushed off as anything else had ever been, and may as well have not been said at all.

“Maybe it’ll scare off customers,” he offered helpfully, pocketing the frog. After all, it was really no secret that the angel went to great lengths to keep people out of his shop. Still, if he'd just let Crowley lounge around in his full scaly glory all day, he doubted it'd be all that difficult to keep people away.

They played a few more games together, the angel delighting in some of the more traditional games the establishment had kept around, gaining more tickets that turned into a pocketful of plastic lizards and little spider rings. Crowley put one on each finger, and took a special delight in finding all sorts of pockets and folds to hide lizards in. On himself, and Aziraphale as well. The angel patiently let him with a tight smile of thanks to the counter attendant, who bore witness to what must have seemed like some sort of odd ritual with the care Crowley was taking in doing so, and the two were off once again. 

Time, fickle as it was, afforded them not much else by means of daylight. The sun was beginning to set, and despite that heralding the end of daytime activities, it did give Crowley an excellent excuse to drag the angel to the ocean shore to watch the sunset.

They left their shoes and socks at the end of the little set of stairs that led to the sand, along with their small pile of treasures they’d collected over the day. They took care in rolling up their pant legs too, just in case the tide decided to roll in prematurely. Still warm beneath his feet, he led the angel by the hand towards the edge of the water, watching as the final swimmer stragglers packed up shop, and headed towards the showers. In the moment, he allowed himself to be a little softer than usual.

“You can see a sunset a million times. Still beautiful.” Hitting the clouds just the right way, the sky was currently a brilliant shade of purple, clouds highlighted in pinks and soft oranges. He heard a soft sigh next to him, and the next words from Aziraphale’s mouth were spoken through a smile, he could tell.

“We would know a thing or two about that, I would suppose.” And he felt a gentle weight on his shoulder, realizing after a moment it was the angel’s cheek. Oh boy. Not about to be upstaged in the quiet, comfortable affection department, he rested his own cheek in the angel’s hair.

“That we would.” With the sun setting, the sand warm and the sea breeze cool, the demon was content. He hummed quietly. “Enjoy our date?”

“Of course, Crowley. I always do.”

They stood like that, quietly and somewhat intimately, and he was doing his best not to simply _ooze_ that lovey feeling. It was difficult, keeping himself in check. But it was just so damn nice. "Me too, angel." Hand shifted, lacing their fingers together, watching as the sun sank slowly into the ocean. Aziraphale let him, and he sighed yet again. The moment was so tender. It practically begged for something. Something big, some kind of confession, maybe. "I..."

“Yes, my dear?” 

Was it just him? Or did the angel sound expectant…? Hopeful, even, perhaps. 

All Crowley could do was reach into his coat pocket, pulling out the box of chocolates he’d bought for him. “Got you these.” It was cowardice that coloured his tone. “Saw you looking at them in the candy shop. Paid for them and everything.”

He lifted his head as he felt the angel shift, smiling at him and taking the candies. “Oh, Crowley.” The corners of his eyes wrinkled warmly and he glanced up from them. “Thank you. We can share them, if you’d like. Over wine? And music…” He brought the box to his chest and sighed almost dreamily. “A perfect end to a wonderful evening, I’d like to think.” 

“Anything you’d like, angel. Yours, then?”

“Yes, of course.”

The pair turned, and both their gazes were captivated by a large bonfire some nighttime beach goers had struck up to keep the evening fun going. The demon stopped, staring into the flames, finding himself unable to move from the spot. All sound had ceased, almost, like the only two things that existed in this world presently were him and the fire. He felt too warm, and despite not needing to, he struggled to breathe just the tiniest bit.

A voice came through the fog. “Is something the matter, Crowley?”

Pulled from his trance, he regained control of the present and shook his head. “Nothing.” 

“...You’re gripping my arm rather tightly for it to be nothing.” 

The demon looked down. Sure enough, hand was curled around Aziraphale’s arm so tightly his nails were digging into the wool of his sleeve. He found it difficult, even when called out, to loosen his grip.

“Pardon my presumptuousness my dear, but are you thinking about the bookshop?” The angel’s voice had taken on a softer tone. “Or perhaps the Bentley? You seemed to have handled that remarkably well, though I suppose fearlessness in the face of trauma makes it no less traumatic.” 

He was never sure if Aziraphale’s ignorance was charming or infuriating. Sure, the angel could feel love and often professed as much whenever they were together, made evident by earlier. But in all their years he had never been able or willing to pinpoint the source, despite Crowley giving it off in spades. Maybe it would have been far easier to tell had he still been _in_ the burning bookshop when Crowley had shown up. He could have felt the exact moment the demon’s heart was torn into shreds, devastation and terror and love and regret flowing from a being much more adjusted to _causing_ most of those emotions. It had taken everything in him to get up and move from the spot he’d been frozen to, and just a little bit more to carry out what he had imagined would have been the angel’s last will and testament - he’d grabbed Agnes’ book before he, too, had been engulfed by flames. 

Maybe it would have been far easier to tell when they had switched bodies, if he had been in Heaven with him. Crowley, staring down a spiral of Hellfire, terrified not for himself but for Aziraphale, and what would have happened had they not taken the last nice and accurate prophecy of Agnes Nutter under a scrutinous eye. It had been easy enough in the moment to play the part, clipped and somewhat indifferent, reserving judgement for Gabriel and the rest that had been onlookers. But as the flames engulfed his borrowed body, those first few moments had sent him into a fit of second-hand agony, of ‘what if’ agony, and had he not known who the _real_ snakes were in all of it he could have thanked the Lord personally for blessing them with the foresight to change places.

Right now, it was a mix of both. Charming and infuriating. Crowley knew Aziraphale had sensed his unease, but had misdiagnosed the cause. It was _him._ The angel himself is what occupied Crowley’s mind, staring at the impressive bonfire the beach goers had erected. Sure, he’d maybe only discorporate. Sure, he’d come back. Eventually, maybe. But that did nothing to retroactively ease the agony he’d felt in the moments when faced with the (albeit irrational, all things considered) idea that he was simply gone, erased from existence forever. It had broken his heart. A wound that had yet to fully mend. Obvious in how the sight of flames licking up old boards had injected a fear so raw and primal into his bones that he had grabbed the angel’s arm out of pure reflex just to remind him that he was still there. His chest hurt. He felt nauseated. 

...And as if on cue, Gabriel’s proposition invaded his mind, replacing the lingering discomfort with agitation. Or, rather, it just added to it.

He shook his head again. “It’s nothing, Aziraphale.” He released his arm, turning to walk back towards the boardwalk again to collect their things. “Let’s go.”

Forget the fancy restaurant. A little bookshop in Soho was a far better place to drown his sorrows as the only demon in existence to have developed a fear of _fire._


	5. Chapter 5

Once at the bookshop, the two of them emptied their pockets of their collected treasures, making a small pile on one of the tables already occupied by many small piles of other things. Books, mostly. Some papers. What appeared to be a stack of tax forms. The handful of lizards and spider rings joined them, a shell that’d been picked up off the beach, bags of candies and other things Crowley couldn’t keep his sticky fingers away from. The large snake joined in too, wrapped in a loose coil around the edge of the table as if protecting all their goodies.

“Need any help?” Crowley asked, gaze sliding away a second or two after, looking up towards the angel as he busied himself with something or other. 

“No no my dear. I have everything. No help needed.” Aziraphale appeared from behind a bookshelf holding a bottle, and two wine glasses. He beamed gently at the demon, bringing everything over and setting it on a clear spot on the table that hadn’t been clear a moment ago. Somehow in the process his coat and vest had disappeared, and almost dumbly Crowley followed suit; tossing his blazer, vest, and scarf haphazardly over the back of a chair.

“Whatcha got, angel?” The most important thing Crowley seemed to know about alcohol was how to drink it, but that seemed to suit Aziraphale just fine. The angel helped himself to a seat on the couch, setting the bottle on the floor and patiently holding out one of the glasses for Crowley to take so he could begin filling them.

“Oh, just a little something I’ve had since…” He paused his uncorking to search the ceilings for something. “1934? I believe that’s the year. Not that old, but still quite good.”

“Ooh. The good stuff,” Crowley said with a grin, taking the glass, “don’t I feel special.”

Aziraphale fought with the bottle and corkscrew a little more before it popped out, huffing with a satisfied sound and beginning to pour. “You are special, my dear.” Glasses were filled with a triumphant smile, and he turned to pull the box of chocolates off the table. “There we are. Wine and chocolates. Perfect evening, eh?”

Crowley was far too busy putting more thought than he ought to in the comment about being _special_, but he nodded distantly, sipping and taking a seat next to him. It _was_ good wine. A chocolate was plucked out of the box and popped into his mouth, the demon washing it down with a swig of wine in a rather uncouth way. Oh well. It tasted good, did manners really matter?

“Perfect,” he responded lamely, realizing the angel had said something that had taken him a moment too long to respond to. But he smiled over at him, watching as the angel enjoyed himself. “Soooo... tell me your _favorite_ part of our date. I crave validation for my good ideas.” 

Aziraphale sipped his wine with a thoughtful, pleased sound, chewing on a chocolate as he considered. “I did enjoy the beach. The sunset was lovely.” A pause to sip. “Oh, the outdoor museum thing. Big fan of all those little oddities.” 

Crowley agreed with a nod and a hum of his own. “Little disappointed they didn’t have a gift shop. Would have loved to take something back with us.”

“Oh yes, quite right.” The angel’s agreement followed another sip of wine, fingers cradling the glass just so. “It would have been lovely to bring back something odd.”

Something odd. The demon stood, heading over to the table and grabbing up all the dumb little toys they’d gotten from the arcade. He took them back, dumping them in Aziraphale’s lap, grinning and draping the snake around his shoulders again. “Odd enough for you, angel?”

Aziraphale laughed warmly as Crowley joined him on the couch once more, patting the stuffed snake’s head before gently shrugging it off himself. “Yes, yes,” he murmured fondly, “all of this is quite odd enough.” And he turned to smile at the demon, a little wryly. “Though you’re an odd enough snake on your own for me.”

“I’m the best oddity,” Crowley corrected, downing his glass and requesting another by very politely holding the glass close to the angel’s face. He grinned sweetly as it was refilled, snickering at the small, gently annoyed sound Aziraphale made as he did so. “Hopefully won’t end up on display, though. Too sexy for that.” 

Aziraphale sputtered a little into his drink, coughing and patting his chest politely. “Yes, well-” he began, taking a breath to even himself out, “with any amount of bad luck, you’d end up on Heaven’s mantle instead.” 

With a click of his tongue, Crowley downed half his glass. “Wouldn’t give them the pleasure.” 

He didn’t see the angel frown as he took another drink, a pensive sort of hum leaving him. “I would certainly hope not.”

It was Crowley’s turn to make a face, spinning the wineglass by the stem between his fingers, watching the liquid swirl around inside. He tried for indifference. “That’s what the holy water was for, after all.” 

Ooh. He did _not_ like the feeling that settled across the room as he said that. It made the skin on the back of his neck prickle just a bit, but other than that, along with a rather deep drink, there was no indication it had bothered him nearly as much as it seemed to have bothered the angel.

“Yes… yes. I suppose so.” Aziraphale filled his own glass once again, shaking his head. “With any luck I won’t end up there either.”

Crowley looked over at him at that, brows creased in a serious frown. “You know I wouldn’t let that happen.” They’d have to get through the demon first. Which, as he was sure both Heaven _and_ Hell had learned, was no easy task. 

To his surprise, the angel chuckled almost nervously. “Of course not, my dear. You’ve proven as much to me many times before.” 

But that still didn’t clear up the anxious air in the room, and Crowley’s frown only deepened. “...So what seems to be the problem, then?”

He watched the angel take another drink, staring off into the depths of the book shop. “Nothing, I suppose. Nothing really is the problem.” Glass not even empty, the angel refilled it again almost a little too hastily. “...I keep thinking about what you said, Crowley. About the nebulas.”

The demon arched a brow, reaching for the bottle himself to get a top off as well. “Yeah?” He… had no idea where this was going. “What about it?” Not his best moment, he would admit. Was Aziraphale going to chastise him for it, now that he’d gotten all the fuzzy-wuzzies out of his system?

“About… About what you said. The. The the -” The angel gave a short huff. “If they knew what created them.” There was a long pause, the demon unwilling to interject or interrupt. For once. “You’re too hard on yourself, Crowley. We’ve known each other for so long…” Aziraphale looked over at him, turning towards him more - their knees touched, and he rest a hand on his leg gently. “If humans knew you like I did, they would never have any reason to question anything. You could tell them you were a demon and they wouldn’t bat an eye.” 

Crowley ran his tongue over his teeth, wondering if he was beginning to feel the alcohol, or just warming up because Aziraphale was getting into some dangerously touchy-feely territory. And touchy-feelying his leg. “Humans fight over how many people look at them on the _internet_, angel. You really think knowing something like _me_ created some of those beautiful things they _put_ on the internet wouldn’t be a point of contention?” 

“Some_one_ like you isn’t a problem. You’ve… You’ve always been so careful about things.” The angel sipped, and worried the stem of his glass almost anxiously. “With Warlock, you were quite an excellent nanny. Despite… Well.” He cleared his throat a little. “Being the _other_ side of the coin. You were never cruel to him. You - For Heaven’s sake, Crowley. You’ve always thought about the children. I don’t know _any_ demon that’s done that. And I’m quite certain you don’t, either.” 

Crowley made a face, but didn’t interrupt, taking a drink instead.

“You’re not… Evil. You aren’t. You’re your own brand of demon. Of - of person. You aren’t evil. Maybe taking notes from Hell’s handbook but rewriting it as you go along, changing what doesn’t suit you.” Aziraphale paused, hand leaving Crowley’s leg to gently pet the head of the toy snake in an absent sort of manner. Maybe so he didn't have to see the way Crowley's face responded to this sort of odd praise. Praise? It wasn't really praise. He was reading him like a book, out loud. He may as well have been at a podium before a crowd for as much as Crowley was able to prevent himself from reacting to it. “It’s very noble of you. In spite of it all. Maybe you’re…” He shook his head, sighing, looking over at him briefly before rubbing his forehead. “Maybe you’re preserving future generations to corrupt later, I don’t know. But leaving children out of it…” 

The long pause made Crowley fidget. “Go on.” 

“I know you hate it when I say this, but you really are rather nice. C-caring.” Aziraphale corrected himself with a nervous glance. “To the children. To me, too, Crowley. You - you-” He gestured to the snake in his lap, the little toys. “You take me on lovely dates. You check up on me. You spend time with me, you’ve covered for me for _thousands of years_ and you make me feel -”

_Loved,_ was the word on the tip of the demon’s tongue, but he wouldn’t plant the idea himself. If he heard it, it had to be because Aziraphale felt it without his verbal interference. 

“Important. I may be, or may have been, I don't know at this point - a principality, but that doesn’t really seem to mean anything anymore. Not like it would matter, I don’t want to be important to the… Erm…” He lifted a hand and pointed feebly upwards. “You know.” 

Crowley did know. He nodded. 

“Important.” As if to remind him. “And… And nice. And good. And _special._ Oh… Crowley.” Aziraphale’s tone was soft; sad. He reached over to him, taking the demon’s cheek, holding it gently, this time making eye contact with him. “I’m so very sorry that you feel this way. You’re _good,_ Crowley. Undeniably so. I wish you could see it.”

Crowley did not feel good. He didn’t feel like a creature that deserved any kind of praise or high consideration. Especially not after his encounter with Gabriel this afternoon - and the helpless clawing at the back of his mind that told him to actually _think_ about the deal that had been extended to him. He didn’t want to. He knew it was nothing but trouble. And yet even the smallest sliver of possibility that the two of them could live out their days _together_ without any trouble...

‘_Not good enough for you.’_ It was an unfortunate truth. But he managed a smile at the angel, resisting the very strong urge to kiss his palm. It wasn’t worth it to argue. Arguments between them, historically, ended poorly. 

So instead he simply backed down, metaphorical tail between his legs. “So long as you think so, angel. That’s all that matters to me.”

\----

They were nearing six glasses apiece, Crowley having inconspicuously refilled the wine bottle once when he was certain the angel wouldn’t notice. Their conversation slipped away from the melancholy topic, and had devolved into utterly pointless, drunken banter.

“I just - I just - I just _think,”_ Crowley began, squinting at the angel across the couch, “that… Cats. Could be nicer.” He raised his brows and shrugged, as if this was an opinion that could generate a lot of controversy. 

Aziraphale responded in kind, mouth making a little ‘o’ shape as his brows raised. “You know… You’re - you’re right. They could be. They can be so very cute sometimes though, hm? Lots of bookshops have them. Cats. Maybe I should get one…” 

Crowley wrinkled his nose, shaking his head and nearly spilling what was left of his wine. “Nooo. Nah, no. Don’t do that. You’re only inviting people in. Everyone wants to _pet_ them. Won’t leave you alone, they won’t.” 

As if the idea had crushed Aziraphale’s hopes and dreams in ways unimaginable, he frowned, hand splaying on his chest. “You’re _right_, Crowley. What was I thinking?” 

“Ohhh, no no no, angel-” The demon miracled away his wineglass to the table to sweep in, holding Aziraphale’s face and pouting at him dramatically. “Please don’t do that. With your face, frowning - I hate it, please don’t. Forget the cats, you’re - you’re - you’re too _good_ for them anyway.” 

The angel sniffled a little, nodding weakly - then, more resolutely, as he seemed to realize that Yes, he _was_ too good for cats. And then he smiled, beaming up at him, face still held between two black-nailed hands. “Not too good for snakes though, hopefully…?”

The urge to kiss the angel tripled, egged on by the (incoherent mumble) or so glasses of wine in his system. He didn’t, instead returning the smile. “You’re way too good for me, angel. But we can keep that a secret, hm?”

“Yes… yes Crowley. Of course. It can be our little secret.” Aziraphale chuckled, hands moving to hold the demon’s face like his own. “One of many, now.” 

Crowley closed his eyes, sighing softly. A distant dizziness swam in his head, almost as if he could feel the world spinning behind his eyelids. Secrets, secrets. This one was alright. Others… Well! They weren’t the topic of discussion currently. It was… Cats, or something. Snakes. Like the big stuffed toy Crowley had absolutely cheated to get.

“You had fun today, yeah?” He opened his eyes halfway, lidded gaze on the sweet face in front of his. “You seemed happy… I did that, right? Made you happy?” 

Aziraphale gave a warm ‘mm-hmm.’ “So very happy. I had a lot of fun today, yes. Wonderful day. Wonderful date.” The angel’s eyes closed. “With a wonderful snake… I appreciate the thought you put into our date. So… So much.” 

Crowley’s hands slipped away, and Aziraphale’s remained for a moment longer before they left his cheeks as well. They leaned on the couch together, drunk and affectionate and honest. Though not _too_ honest. Crowley couldn’t afford that.

He let his eyes slipped closed again, enjoying everything for a moment. The feel, the warmth, the smell he was so accustomed to after all these years. Though the warmth, he soon realized, was more from his own cheeks than the angel himself - his date and efforts being appreciated let his cheeks share that warmth with his chest, and despite wanting to he couldn't blame that on the alcohol. Not being so closely affiliated with down Below let him act a little more independently, and he fought for that free will with tooth and nail, spending it on dates and other little things to make Aziraphale smile. Wineglass was miracled back into his hand, the demon opening his eyes to make sure he didn’t miss with his next sip. He noticed though that Aziraphale had put his own down and he scooted closer, curling an arm around him to lean against him fondly. "Did. Did you know - did you know that I appreciate _you_ so much. So much, it's... It's _vile."_

Aziraphale looked up at him and crooned quietly, smiling in a very drunken, adorable way. “Well. Aren’t _you_ in the mood to be sweet.” He rest his head against Crowley now, sighing pleasantly. “I appreciate you, too. Oh, you’re so _darling_ sometimes. Honestly.” 

“I try _very_ hard to be darling, thankyouverymuch.” As if to make a point, he grabbed the angel’s hand with his own empty one, having sent his glass away again. He smiled almost triumphantly, lacing their fingers. “See. Very darling.” Eyes trailed down to their intertwined hands, and he sighed, brows pinching slightly as the smile faded away. "Do.... Do you - d’you think I'm too much sometimes? I worry, sometimes, that. That I'm too much sometimes."

There was some shifting around, Aziraphale getting comfy against him and practically melting into his side. The alcohol was hitting him hard, Crowley could tell, and who was he to try and move him? He didn’t at all mind the closeness, and wasn’t too drunk to let himself enjoy it. Or notice that it was somewhat more _forward_ than Aziraphale usually let himself be.

“You’re not too much, Crowley…” The words were a tired sigh, the angel’s eyes closing. “Just the right amount of Crowley for me.” 

The comfortable silence was soon filled with the sound of Aziraphale’s deep, sleeping breaths, and Crowley stayed awake, stroking his hair. His eyes were closed, and drunk as he was he wasn’t quite ready to call it quits just yet. 

No, he’d much rather sit there, awake, damning himself to silence. He didn’t _want_ to be quiet. He wanted to scream. Throw things. Make a mess of this perfect little book shop. (And then clean up after himself in an equally explosive fit of shame.)

He did none of those things, of course. Not with the angel sleeping on him like this. At peace with the world, safe in his own drunken little dreams. Crowley shifted slightly to get more comfortable, easing Aziraphale down to let his head rest in his lap. Black-tipped fingers combed through his hair as he curled up a little like that, a very gentle snore starting as he laid on his side now. Crowley hummed to him quietly.

“You love… you love _everything_,” he began in a quiet murmur, gazing down at the sleeping beauty in his lap. It made him feel even _softer_ in the moment, slumping a bit and leaning his head back. “Imagine… Imagine, imagine… Imagine that feeling. For _everything_ that you have. All that love for every living creature. Millions and billions and _trillions_ of things on this earth. An'... an' imagine, jus' - jus' for a second that it could all be focused on one... on one thing. Nothing else matters." He nodded, as if confirming with himself that were an apt enough description. “S’how I feel. About you.” It was maybe a little dramatic, but the demon was a bit too drunk to care. And Aziraphale was sleeping, anyway. It’s not like it mattered much.__

_ _Drifting in and out for some minutes, he hummed softly again, hand having fallen still in the platinum locks. “I think… I think I love you more than I ever loved being an angel, I think.” He took a deep breath at that, eyes still closed. “And I think. I think you should know that. But you’re asleep. So you… you won’t. Tha’s alright.” Head picked up to look down at the sleeping angel. “Maybe s’better that way, yeah? What would you even… what would you even do if you knew that.”_ _

_ _The inevitability of being told 'It just wouldn't work, Crowley' was something he was simply not willing to face. So he instead damned himself to the burn of whatever it was they had going on between them now, as he had for quite some time. It was better than rejection. It was better than nothing at all. He would ask himself, sometimes, whether or not he deserved to have his love returned anyway, and the answer was usually a derisive snort, followed by cold laughter._ _

_ _There was no laughter now, just the tick of a clock from somewhere, the sound of Aziraphale snoozing, and Crowley sighing. There were maybe points when he could have deserved something like that. Times in their lives when he felt as though maybe he wasn’t inherently undeserving simply because of what he was. He thought back to just a bit ago, Aziraphale calling him good. The thought sent a tight sensation sliding up his throat, bringing heat to his eyes. For all the good the angel saw in him all Crowley could do was think of the bad, compounded severely by the fact fucking _Gabriel_ had cornered him and forced him to listen to his stupid deal. _ _

_ _Free hand moved to pinch his temples. Crowley did not want to think about this now. But with the angel asleep and the demon _unwilling_ to sleep with these ugly thoughts dancing about in his head, he was simply forced to deal with it. He wanted to think of nice things. How Aziraphale had probably blushed when he kissed his knuckles. The way he lit up at the sight of the arcade. The way he felt so _safe_ with him, falling asleep like a drunken fool in his lap, not needing to but _wanting_ to, and trusting the demon to watch over him while he did. The way his every smile and shy glance kept the embers of happiness Crowley once felt as an angel himself stoked indefinitely. _ _

_ _“I refuse.” It was said plainly, and to nobody. Nobody present, anyway. “You said to think about it an’ I did.”_ _

_ _Apparently satisfied with this imaginary exchange, Crowley gave a small nod and settled in once again, letting the gently spinning room behind his closed eyelids rock him to sleep._ _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your patience with me for this next chapter. a lot of my creative energy went into bittersweet omens the past few months - i have absolutely 0 regrets about it, but i lost faith in myself for this fic. i'm doing my best to get back into it!

“Do be careful with it,” the angel reminded nervously, wringing his hands as the jeweler took his precious ring from him, inspecting it with a small lens, “it’s - it’s very important to me.”

“Heirloom, then?” The man asked, squinting through the tool, holding the ring up to the light. Aziraphale wobbled his head back and forth a little, a difficult breath of a sound leaving him.

“You… you could say that, I suppose.” Hands, feeling naked without the ring, didn’t know what to do with themselves. They felt _wrong,_ even clasped together, the weight and feel of the gold piece glaringly absent. But he needed it immaculately clean for what he wanted to do with it. He wasn’t even sure it would work - but there was no sense in not trying. “I just need it cleaned. Afraid I lack the proper tools.” 

The man nodded, turning his back to the angel and waving his hand. “Come back in an hour. I’ll ‘ave it ready for you by then.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands again, nodding slowly. “Yes. Right. An hour.” He did seem to have enough time to pay someone a visit he’d been meaning to. And he smiled. “Of course. See you then.” 

He left the little jeweler’s shop quietly, hearing the jingle of the door’s bell behind him. Down the street he headed, into a delightful little pastry shop he frequented rather often. The delightful taste of the chocolates had stayed with him through his nap and most of the morning, and he knew for a fact there was a chocolate cornet with his name on it in a glass case. After waiting patiently in line, and purchasing the treat with two cups of tea, he moved to a small table near the back and smiled brightly at his company.

“I’m simply overjoyed you could find time to join me, Madame Tracy.” He slid one of the cups of tea towards her, which she accepted with a very sweet smile. “It’s lovely to see you again. Blonde suits you quite well.”

“Ohh, well.” She sipped the tea, humming as she cupped a coif with her other hand. “I was maybe inspired, Mister Aziraphale. It does look so charming on you.” 

Made bashful, Aziraphale, waved his hand, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. “My - well. Ah. Thank you. But, mm…” He lowered his voice just a bit. “Perhaps ‘Mr. Fell’ will do, around the humans?” A glance around the shop before he smiled at her again. “Hm?”

“But that does seem so impersonal.” Madame Tracy sniffed quietly over her tea. “You _were_ inside me, after all.” 

The angel nearly choked on a bite of the coronet, lifting his napkin to cover the sputter. The woman across from him positively cackled, wrinkling her nose in a smile.

“There’s a dear!” She chirped playfully. “Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, picking at his coronet. He took a sip of his tea. Looked out the window and fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket. Overall, he had just wanted to see her again. The schedules the four of them kept (including Shadwell) didn’t line up quite often enough to allow for visits. Though he would admit to having something on his mind when he’d initially asked her to meet up. “Yes. Well. I was. I was wondering, perhaps. If you could… Ah…” Oh, he was so terribly bad at this. “If you could maybe tell me just. Er. How you… Used to…” He gestured at her politely, but his look was still difficult. “Obtain. ...Clientele. When you were… Previously employed…?”

Madame Tracy blinked owlishly at him, just staring for a moment before she spoke up in reply. “A good ad in the circular goes a long way, Mr. Fell. But not many people believe in spirit mediums these days. You’d be better off looking on the internet.”

Aziraphale winced, eyes closing. Yes, of course. “I wasn’t referring to… _that_ career.” 

A long finger tapped against modestly painted lips. “You’re wondering how to get gentlemen into your bedroom, Mr. Fell?” She made a crude motion with her hands curiously. 

“Well.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. Smiled tightly. Tried to ignore the gesture. “Just. Just the one.”

Plucked eyebrows raised. “Mister Crowley?” And she hesitated, then did the motion again, and Aziraphale batted at her hands - resulting in more giggles.

“Will you st- _yes_ it’s Crowley.” The angel hissed, shaking his head. _”Warlock_ was more well-behaved than you, I swear.” 

After her mirth subsided, Madame Tracey waved her hand before resting her cheek against the backs of her fingers, elbow on the table. “Pardon me, Mr. Fell. You just don’t strike me as the type.”

“Not the type?” Aziraphale was _almost_ offended. “I’ll have you know that in the past I was _very_-”

“Oh no, dear. Of course. I only meant…” She considered her words. “He’s simply _mad_ for you. You wouldn’t need my techniques. In fact…” She sat back, sipping her tea again. “I could see anything fancy scaring him off. He’s… A bit of a delicate one, isn’t he.”

To this, Aziraphale could only sigh. “You... aren’t exactly wrong. And I’m reasonably certain our feelings on the matter align. I just… I’m not sure it’s quite the right time.” When Madame Tracey didn’t respond for a full ten seconds, the angel looked up to see her staring at him expectantly. “...Ah…?”

“When ever _is_ the right time, dear? It’s been how long, now?” She looked at her wrist as if she wore a watch, then back to him pointedly. “You’ve had that long to be careful. It isn’t as if he’s _going_ anywhere. Always manages to find you no matter what, doesn’t he.”

The notion made Aziraphale smile fondly, recalling every moment they were reunited. Rome. The bastille. The smile faded somewhat as he recalled every argument they’d had as well. But still, Crowley had always come back to him. Remarkable, really. Unthinkable. “You’re right.” He moved to fiddle with his ring, but it was absent - and he huffed, instead folding his hands. Smiled at her once again. “You’re absolutely right.” 

*******

_’Death on two legs… You’re tearing me apart… Death on two legs… You never had a heart… of your own…’_

Crowley glowered at the radio of the Bentley as it began belting out a _choice_ tune on the way back to his flat. “I don’t need _you_ telling me that,” he grumbled at it in irritation.

He had ended up falling asleep, awoken rather rudely by the telephone in the bookshop going off at the _insidious_ hour of 11 A.M. Aziraphale had woke with a start as well, jarring the demon further. He’d left with a silent ‘call me’ motion, the angel waving him off with a warm smile.

And now here he was, driving back to his flat, finding himself already bored with what the day might hold for him. The amount of things he could busy himself with were innumerable, the time he had endless. Truly, with everything about Armageddon behind him, he had all the time in the world. But what do you do with eternity, when it isn’t spent living in the shadow of things bigger than you are?

He thought of his encounter with Gabriel. The excitement with which the angel had tried to sell the deal, as if it were some big break for the both of them. Then he remembered being in Heaven, in Aziraphale’s body. The way Gabriel spoke to him, the disrespect and almost disdain he seemed to have for the angel. _Another_ angel. Beings that were touted to be so full of love and patience for not only man but fellow angels. There was no way he had his best interests in mind. None of this was for the benefit of probably the one celestial being among them all that actually deserved to be given a break. 

...And then he thought about how Gabriel had brought Hellfire to threaten him with. After seeing what had happened, how the angel had _not_ in fact burnt up to vanish forever, he must have known it’d have no effect. 

Or. And Crowley scowled at himself, slamming hands hands on the steering wheel hard enough to make the heels of his palms hurt.

“Or he bloody figured it out.” 

_’Feel good? Are you satisfied? Do you feel like suicide? You should…’_

“Oh, come on,” he grumbled, meekly turning the volume down, “that’s just in poor taste.”

In the moment, he had feared for Aziraphale, and had completely forgotten to play up the whole ‘How did that work for you the first time, hm?’ card. Which he had in his deck. Hell, it was the top card. It worried him, suddenly, that their little trick had been solved. Had he told anyone else? Had his rendezvous with Beelzebub (that he very much did _not_ want to think about) led to conversations about how the two of them had pulled off the whole thing? Much more wary about being ambushed with holy water than he had been not a minute ago, he wondered who, out of the whole handful of people he knew, could help him now.

He really didn’t want to have to explain anything to anyone that didn’t need to know. Paranoia was not his preferred style.

After many minutes of internal debate, he did manage to get Anathema on the line. Not the least judgemental of the group by far, but he felt like she’d ask the fewest dumb questions.

“Yeah hey,” he drawled lazily, trying to play up indifference, “would you do me a… uh…” What did humans call it these days? “A solid?”

The stunned silence on the other end of the line was deafening. And for a moment, he feared Anathema had hung up on him. “Anathema?”

“Yes. Hi. I’m here. You need me to do you… A solid.”

“Yeah. ...That is what it’s called, isn’t it?”

“A favor? Is that what you’re asking?”

Crowley sighed irritably. “Yes. A favor. Can you help me or not?”

“I’ll help you so long as you promise to stay in your century’s vocabulary lane. What did you need?”

It took a few goes of it, but Crowley managed to explain in some simple terms, not sounding at all crazy, that he wanted her to check his flat for any signs of foul play. He couldn’t outright ask her to make sure someone hadn’t Looney Tune’d the joint up to eliminate him, so he spun some yarn about break-ins being on the rise in his neck of the woods. 

Despite his own lies, and the lightheartedness with which he explained the fabricated situation to Anathema, he felt anxiety creep up and down his spine again. He’d left himself so _vulnerable_ last night. With Aziraphale asleep in his lap, he’d let his guard down when Gabriel was out and stalking around, knowing he was still weak to holy water. Knowing Aziraphale could succumb to Hellfire. It may not have been the threat of humanity as they knew it ending, but as far as Crowley was concerned the entire universe only contained himself and Aziraphale. After everything, he was allowed to be selfish. He was allowed to fear for himself. For the both of them. 

Regardless of how silly he may have sounded, Anathema agreed to check his flat. Though even with her promise, delivered with what he was certain was a roll of her eyes, Crowley did not feel better. He stopped the Bentley a block away from his place, staring down the street and gripping the steering wheel tightly. For as much as it had been tormenting him earlier, his car had nothing to say to his apprehension. It bloody well hadn’t, this was serious - Crowley was genuinely frightened of walking into his living room and having a bucket of holy water dumped on him, exactly as Ligur had perished. Honestly, he wouldn’t put it past Hastur to do something like that at this point. And, despite all the ingrained hatred and malice, he couldn’t think of another demon in Hell that’d hold enough _actual_ animosity towards him to try. 

Crowley did not go to his flat.  
Crowley, instead, drove north. Out of the city. Away from the huddled buildings and bustling people, away from the paralyzing fear of _something_ happening to him.

All in all, the demon enjoyed driving. When Satan didn’t feel the need to communicate with him, when the Bentley decided it didn’t need to taunt him or provide theme music for his daily doings, the quiet hum of tires on asphalt were surprisingly comforting. Demons, typically, were solitary creatures - usually only working with one another for mutually beneficial temptings or to share intel - and while Crowley very much went against the grain of this, he couldn’t deny that sometimes, spending time on the open road and just _driving_ with no goal in mind was incredibly therapeutic. 

Right now he needed one of those times. He drove for two hours with no real plan. When housing turned sparse, the landscape transformed into rolling hills, and pavement turned to less tended and narrower packed dirt roads, he actually paused to take a look at his surroundings and find out where his little escape had taken him.

The Bentley was pulled off to the side of the road, and Crowley stepped out of it. Hands in his pockets, he walked a few yards away from the car. A path greeted him that was worn by many years of use; pebbles and dirt smoothed by decades of foot traffic from humans and animals and who knew what else. With no real incentive _not_ to, he followed it. He needed to clear his damn head. His own mortality wasn’t ever usually something he needed to fear for. It was distracting. It was _draining._ With more on his plate than he had to worry about even just a few hours ago, all he wanted to do was sleep. While away the hours as the world passed him by, maybe another century like he had done before. But even that was selfish of him to think. No longer only needing to fear for himself, he couldn’t sit idly by and do nothing. Aziraphale needed protection, too. Heaven wanted to get rid of him. Crowley had an ugly suspicion making him Fall was the first and last formality Upstairs was going to extend to him. And now that Gabriel had actually forced him to hear the offer, he was on borrowed time.

It was Armageddon all over again. On a much more personal scale.

Grass eventually gave way to taller grass, grazing his sides and turning almost brush-like. Still having no idea where he was going, and despite the annoying frequency with which he began batting greenery away, he continued on. His footsteps took him about a mile and just as he was aiming to turn back and re-gather himself in his car, he broke into a clearing.

What greeted him held his intense attention for a full minute, gears turning slowly in his head as he processed. It wasn’t long before the corner of his mouth curled into a smile.

Crowley had stopped believing that God had any real favor for him quite some many centuries ago. But it was things like this that, occasionally, had him thanking Her in his own private sort of way.

Back in the Bentley, he quickly typed up an email and sent it off with a little kiss of demonic favor. Tossed his phone onto the passenger seat.

“Call Aziraphale.”

The line rang cheerily three times before someone picked up. The demon was almost as giddy himself, starting the car and turning it around again.

“I am very sorry, but we are closed for today,” came the voice at the end of the line. It did not sound very sorry at all. Crowley frowned and checked the time, then snorted.

“You close earlier and earlier every day, angel,” he teased. The short huff of a laugh that greeted him made Crowley smile, actually somewhat _excited_ for what he had planned despite the… circumstances. “Something tells me you don’t actually _want_ business.”

“Imagine that.” Aziraphale chuckled. “Is there something that you needed? Oh, were you coming back to get your little trinkets from yesterday?”

“No no. Hey, those are for you anyway.” Pause. “Except the spider rings. I _do_ want those back. But - why I’m calling. Pack a bag.”

“A bag? What for?” 

A little buzz from his phone told him his email had been replied to. He didn’t even have to confirm to know what it said. It felt a little like cheating in a way, but he had bigger things to worry about than that. He started up the Bentley again with a knowing grin.

“We’re going on holiday.”


	7. Chapter 7

It hadn’t taken too much convincing on Crowley’s part, but he was still met with a bit of hesitation once he got to the bookshop. Not out of any sort of _urgency_ did he follow Aziraphale around the shelves, asking almost every moment if there was anything else he wanted to bring. And he was greeted with a mildly annoyed look nearly every time.

“Well, if you had packed when I told you to, this wouldn’t be happening now. _Now_ you have a demon hounding you and asking the same obnoxious question every three minutes.” Crowley’s words were spoken as he tried to look around as blandly as possible, keeping a keen eye out for any sort of foul play that could have somehow wormed its way inside between that morning and now. “Don’t _you_ feel foolish.”

Possibly sensing some sort of unease, Aziraphale paused his packing and turned to look at him.

“You haven’t said where we’re going,” he chided quietly, but didn’t mean any lick of criticism. “I’m _very_ curious. This is so sudden - just _where_ are you taking me?”

Crowley paused, staring at a book with gold filigree covering the spine. His fingers absently traced the designs, trying his hardest not to associate that comment with any memories of the past.

When he failed spectacularly, imagining that exact same phrase going through the angel’s mind as he was struck from behind and kidnapped, he sighed, and gentle resignation hid behind his words. “I’d just like to take you somewhere nice. That’s all. If you’ll let me.”

“Crowley… We had a very nice time yesterday. And last night! You don’t have to take me anywhere else. In fact, if anything, it’s _my_ turn to pick somewhere.”

“No.” The demon shook his head. “I know. I want to. This is different from the celebration.” He took a breath, turning as he shoved hands into his pockets again. “I think we both could use a very nice break. Just you and me, no calls, no bookstores, no customers.” No unwanted visits from unwanted guests. No potential danger of being jumped and kidnapped again, no impending doom from vindictive demons. Or hellbent angels. This time, his tone _did_ turn a little urgent. “Please.”

Crowley did not know what was going on in Aziraphale’s mind right now. If he did, he would very plainly see the conversation the angel had earlier with Madame Tracy flickering little lights of ideas into his mind. He would see the gears turning in Aziraphale’s head, drawing lines between points and seeing if it made any sort of pictures. He did not see these things, and so the quiet “Of course, Crowley” delivered with a smile just the tiniest bit brighter than usual only served to relieve the demon rather than fill him with his own ideas.

“Great.” Crowley immediately took the bag Aziraphale was holding and began stuffing things into it himself with no real care or concern for what he was doing. “I’ll take care of this one. Go… I don’t know. Hold your mail or disconnect your phone or barricade the door or whatever it is legitimate businesses need to do before going on holiday.” 

\-----

“South Downs?” The angel repeated curiously, glancing over as Crowley drove. “What’s in South Downs?”

“Absolutely nothing.” And Crowley smiled over at him, hint of wicked cleverness glinting in shaded eyes. “Water. Nice cliffs. A beach, I’m sure. Rolling countryside. And a very nice little cottage that’s going to be ours for a whole week.” A week should have been long enough for Crowley to put together a plan on how to cleverly slip around Gabriel’s proposition and figure something else out. A week when no one else knew where they were. ...A week without having packed anything of his own. Fah. He’d ask Anathema to look after his plants. Or Newt - the demon figured he’d want something to do to make himself feel important. “Doesn’t it sound _nice_ though. Not having to deal with people asking whether or not they can buy something. Or… Or calling to see if you’re going to get in books you don’t want to part with. Even just…” Hand lifted from the wheel, gesticulating lazily. “Not having to deal with _anything,_ really.”

Aziraphale hummed, hands folded in his lap, watching the road in front of them. “Does sound rather pleasant. I’ve had this gentleman calling nearly every day looking for a first edition of the Canterbury Tales. I’ve _got_ it, of course. I just haven’t figured out a polite enough way to…” He twiddled his thumbs, played with his ring. “Tell him he can’t have it.” 

“See? There you go. Vanish for a week and he’ll probably bugger off.” Crowley could only hope the same of Gabriel. Or any of the other enemies they’d managed to make over the past 6000 or so years. Anxiety crept over him again, threatening to make him speed or talk or worse. But he pushed it away, letting out a breath. No. They’d be safe here. That was the whole point. “Can’t you find him a convincing fake? I know you complain about those all the time.”

The conversation continued, just about as interesting as it had started, for most of the ride there. Aziraphale’s tone changed slightly as the countryside began rolling past them, eyes moving to look out the window. He seemed to smile more as he spoke then, and it put the demon far more at ease than he had been for the past day or so. It wasn’t as easy as he would have liked to remove himself from the impending doom they were leaving behind, but not impossible. There was work to be done. And while he would have preferred Aziraphale be as far removed from the danger as possible, the demon could simply not imagine having him anywhere else. Be it for comfort, or to keep an eye on him. 

“A whole week,” the angel murmured. “My dear I think this just might be a first.” Crowley could relate - with everything they’d been through, an entire week to themselves was definitely not something he’d have imagined. He only wished it was as innocent as he was framing it to be. “Nothing to do but enjoy each other’s company… And relax. It’ll be lovely to sit in the sun. And go to the beach again. See the sights. Oh…” He frowned, tone turning sad. “I didn’t bring a camera.”

“You know angel,” Crowley began in a voice he’d used many times before on the same bloody subject, “if you’d only use one of those nifty little phones humans carry around all the time these days, you’d realize they function as a camera as well.”

Aziraphale huffed softly. “I’ll just use yours. Know you can’t be without it, I’m sure it’s in here somewhere.”

“Oi,” the demon snapped, “no way. Get your own! _I’ll_ get you your own!”

“I don’t _need one_, Crowley. How many times do I have to tell you this? The gesture is very lovely but I just don’t have a use for it.”

“Apart from talking to me whenever you want. Ah… Checking the weather. Checking the time. Looking up answers to questions you don’t know, _reading-”_

“No, thank you.” The angel folded his arms. “I’m quite set on reading material. And I rather enjoy how often I cycle through encyclopedia sets. Most humans find it annoying, though I find it relaxing to look over them once in a while to see how things have changed. They’ve advanced so much, it feels cheap to rely entirely on a small computer to appreciate their efforts.” He humphed through his nose. “The mental footwork is rewarding.”

“Is this an argument? Are we really fighting over technology?” Crowley had to laugh. “We sound like a-” He was about to say, ‘old married couple’, but the implications were not ones he wanted to draw attention to. (He very much did, often, in the privacy of his own flat. But this was a week for relaxation, not temptation.) “-...a couple of squabbling teenagers. Fine, fine. You can use mine. I’ll teach you how to take a _selfie.”_

“Now that,” Aziraphale said with a smile, looking over at him, “I will agree to.”

Crowley took the two of them past the dirt path he’d walked down not a few hours ago and to a long drive that looped dizzyingly around a field of overgrown grass. A wooden sign near the entrance simply read ‘COTTAGE’ in fading, paint-curled letters, though it filled him with a sense of homeyness he’d been sorely missing for quite some time. It promised peace, least of all. But it still gave him hope. And he knew that so long as he could keep Aziraphale distracted from what he was doing, the angel would enjoy his vacation.


	8. Chapter 8

“Well,” the angel tried carefully, hand moving to Crowley’s shoulder to pacify the quiet rage that was building, “we could always… share.”

“I didn’t know there was only one bed.” Crowley’s eyes closed and his shoulders sagged with a sigh of resignation. His mild panic over the fact that they might have to _share a bed_ left little room for the other possibilities to file in. Had he the presence of mind he’d probably realize how _nice_ it would be. “I’m sorry, angel. I sort of rushed into getting the place without doing any research first.”

“Oh, Crowley. It’s quite alright. The gesture is more than enough. And…” He hesitated, looking at his hands, worrying his ring, “if it’s too much trouble, the couch in the living room looks rather comfortable.”

“No.” Crowley’s response was firm. “Demons get the couch. Angels get the bed.” He actually wouldn’t mind that, so much. If Aziraphale had a space for himself - this cozy bedroom - it would allow the demon that much more privacy in figuring out what he was going to do about Gabriel’s proposition. Some ideas were already forming. First and foremost, despite _really_ not wanting to, he wanted to talk to Beelzebub. If they could confirm or deny the offer they’d supposedly given Gabriel about Aziraphale being received directly into his clearance status, it might make things easier. For as much as he trusted Beelzebub he trusted Gabriel even less, and he couldn’t be entirely certain the Prince had even _made_ an offer like that. He very much believed Heaven had the intentions of getting rid of Aziraphale. He had a much harder time believing that they’d actually corroborate with Hell to do so.

All in all, it was just one big mess. He didn’t want to deal with it. He didn’t want to think about Aziraphale falling in any capacity, for any reason. If they could just run away forever, hop from cottage to cottage and stay two steps ahead of Heaven, that was probably the most ideal outcome he could think of. But it was so unrealistic. He nearly had to laugh. Instead, he waved a hand, heading out of the bedroom to go get another look around.

Apart from only being one bedroom, it was a very nice cottage. A very quaint kitchen had a nice view of the cliffsides, and a back door opened to a little path that wound around them. The bathroom was cozy as well, and Crowley adored the updated shower it had. (Aziraphale very much enjoyed the large clawed bathtub.) The living room was sparsely decorated, but comfortable; a large, squishy sofa and a coffee table joined a few bookshelves. The fake potted plant did make the demon turn up his nose, but if he was really bothered by it he could find something _real_ to put in it. Eventually.

All in all, a pleasant place. Perfect to hide.

With the exception of the fellow that had responded to his email, he was quite certain no one else knew they were here. He was also quite certain that couldn’t last forever, but the little respite it would afford them might actually prove to be beneficial. Some time to get away, and some time for Crowley to hopefully sort things out. Think of a plan. Get rid of Heaven and Hell finally, for good.

Aziraphale had finished putting up the books he’d brought with him onto a bare shelf a few minutes ago just as Crowley finished making a cup of tea for him. It was late in the afternoon now, and the sun was beginning to bend towards the cliffside not even half a mile’s walk from the cottage’s back door. Stepping up next to him, Aziraphale sighed pleasantly, taking the mug and sipping. 

“Gorgeous view,” the angel murmured, leaning against him gently. Crowley smiled a bit, nodding.

“Can’t argue with that.” Maybe, for tonight, he could exist without worrying about anything. Without thinking about Gabriel, or Beelzebub. Though - “One moment.”

He stepped away, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he headed out the back door and onto the little path, dialing Newt’s number and stopping ten paces away.

“Newton Pulsifer, Witchfinder,” came a chipper voice from the other end of the line. “Just… just kidding. What can I do for you, Mister Crowley?”

The demon was happy to see Newt was keeping himself entertained, and he couldn’t help the little half-grin that came to his face. “Hey, Newt. I’ve got a favor to ask.” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait, listen, it’s called a _solid_, right? You’d be doing me a solid.”

He distantly heard Anathema laughing over the line and grumbled. “I’m... sorry, Mister Crowley. I’m… Not supposed to-”

“Tell your wife I’m well within my right to use sssslang!” He hissed irritably. “Just do me a damned solid! I - _I can still hear you cackling, Anathema, I’m six thousand years old I’ll say whatever I want-”_

Newton remained silent while Crowley and Anathema bickered. It was more of Crowley howling at a laughing Anathema, but Newt did the right thing by keeping quiet. Eventually she seemed to grow bored and leave the two of them some five minutes later.

“...Mister Crowley?” Newt tried after a few moments of silence. “You’re still there, right?”

“Yeah,” the demon grumbled, agitatedly kicking a rock. “I’m here. Now, my _solid_-” He paused, waiting for more laughter. When he heard none, he continued. “I’d like for you to look after my plants for the week. Think you can handle that? It’s important.” 

It was as if he could _hear_ Newt straighten up over the phone. “Y - yes! Yes sir, Mister Crowley sir, of course I can! Eh… Anathema has a key, right?”

“She should, yeah. If she did that _**solid**_ for me, earlier-”

“We’ll do you this _favor_, Crowley.” Anathema’s voice was back, sing-song and unbearably so. “Don’t worry.”

“Gahhhhh_hhhh!”_ The demon flung his phone off towards the cliff with a mighty scowl. Then, as if realizing what he’d done two full seconds later, he chased it down with a ‘No no no NO NO’ before diving to snap and catch it.

Grumbling and wiping grass and dirt off himself, he headed back into the cottage. 

Aziraphale was clearly trying to hide some giggles, and Crowley narrowed his eyes at him. Even took off his sunglasses for added effect. “Just _what_ is so funny, Aziraphale.” 

“Ohhh.” The angel sipped his tea, though his cheeks were pink from the effort of not laughing again. “Nothing, my dear.” 

The rest of the evening went by rather quietly. Crowley lit a fire like a good old-fashioned human in the fireplace(without flinching even once - he pat himself on the back for that), and the two took to reading in the quiet living room. The couch _was_ comfortable, and Crowley accepted his fate to ‘sleep’ out here. He wanted to get to work contacting Beelzebub, or doing some research on things that might be available to him, but Aziraphale was still out here with him. And on top of that, he’d promised himself he could have this evening for some normalcy. Just some few sparse hours before he let himself fall into despair again. That’s all. He deserved that much, at least.

But doing nothing just made him more anxious, and so to try and quell this, he got himself comfortable on the couch, and allowed himself to fall asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

“Crowley?” Aziraphale tried quietly, closing his book when he didn’t get a reply. “Are you asleep…?” The only sound that greeted him was deep, steady breathing, and he knew his dearest demon was out like a light. 

It was always curious to him how Crowley could just… _sleep_ like that. Celestial beings had no need for human necessities, but he supposed he could see the merit in just simply… Turning one’s brain _off_ for a little while. Though Crowley had, in confidence, professed to dreaming once or twice - the subjects ranging from the bland to the downright strange.

Well, enough of that for now. He stood carefully, setting his book down on the coffee table before moving over to Crowley. He’d taken off his jacket, but neglected to remove his shoes - which Aziraphale did with a tremendous amount of care as to not wake the demon. When all he got was a sleepy mumble in reply, he smiled, setting them down next to the couch neatly. Upon standing, an afghan was pulled from the back of the couch, draped over the sleeping form. There was a moment or two of hesitation before Aziraphale leaned down, gently placing a kiss in his hair before heading off towards the bedroom.

There was a certain amount of _guilt_ that haunted the angel as he moved. Not wishing for anything that Crowley wouldn’t be around, he was merely grateful for this quiet bit of alone time to attempt what he’d had on his mind earlier in the day. It wasn’t something he could risk being interrupted, and the idea of Crowley asking _what he was doing_ gave him such a fit of embarrassed panic he needed to will away his very human nerves before they became a very real problem.

He opened the door and closed it quietly behind him, breathing a sigh. The bedroom was quite cozy, this he would not and could not deny. Though he had a harder time admitting that he would have _much_ rather shared it with Crowley. He sat on the bed, twiddling his thumbs, wishing quietly that maybe he didn’t feel that. He wasn’t supposed to want for _anything_, being an angel. And he most _certainly_ wasn’t supposed to want to share the intimate company of a demon. Let alone one he’d all but pined for for so long.

Though… Maybe… 

He scooted back further onto the bed, toeing out of his shoes and letting them drop to the floor, vest removed and folded off to the side. He folded his legs and sighed again, closing his eyes. Perhaps… Perhaps Crowley _didn’t_ feel the same way he did. Oh, of course, the demon could volley flirts at him day in and day out as if he _invented_ the act, but Aziraphale knew that they only meant so much. After all, the last thing Crowley wanted was for either of them to get into trouble. Even still. Was he really as mad for him as Madame Tracy had figured? She had said… Anything he might do to try and coerce the demon would probably scare him away. Oh, dear. Had he come on too strongly earlier, suggesting they share the bed? It had been so innocent at the time - he hadn’t even been thinking - not _quite_ -

Unbidden, a blush rose to his cheeks and his hands sought them, shaking his head with a soft huff. This was silly! He had no right feeling this way. It was pointless. It wasn’t as if either were going to _act_ on any feelings they may or may not have had for each other. It was just. Safer, this way. While not in any immediate danger, there was still a sort of caution they needed to take. Wasn’t there? 

He stared at the door almost longingly, now wishing for all the world Crowley would open it and join him. That the two of them could find some sort of solace in… Anything, really. The past two years had been somewhat free and easy, of course. But there was still… 

Hands left his cheeks, smoothing out the comforter in front of himself, picking off errant pills in the fabric and stray hairs. A cat, perhaps? - Maybe all the care they were putting into this careful dance around one another was for an entirely imagined threat. Neither one of them had seen hide nor hair of Heaven _or_ Hell in all this time. Maybe it was time to act upon these feelings…? Or, at the very least. 

He took off his ring, setting it carefully on the bed in front of himself. Hand outstretched, it hovered over it by just barely an inch. The angel closed his eyes, and focused.

At the very least, it was perhaps time to talk about it.

\----

It was an hour later that Crowley woke. Eyes slivered open to see pools of moonlight spilling over the coffee table and bisecting his middle as he laid across the couch. Awareness filtered back in. Hands pushed himself off the cushion suddenly.

“Aziraphale.” Where was he? Was he alright? Body evidently working faster than mind, he pulled himself out of the slough of sleep, relaxing and rubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm. Right. They were in the cottage in South Downs. Crowley had brought both of them here yesterday to escape the chilling reality of Gabriel (and possibly Beelzebub) being in-the-know about their mutual weaknesses to hellfire and holy water. He glanced at the closed bedroom door, noting the slip of light showing beneath it. Aziraphale was safe, awake and safe, and Crowley needed to chill out.

Body sat in a slouch, arms at his sides, willing the tiredness from his bones and wiggling his boot-free toes. His was a weariness not even matched by the days prior to what was supposed to be Armageddon, and he’d never felt so drained before. But even still, he had work to do, and he set about rearranging the living room to his liking. 

The coffee table was pushed under the living room window quietly, far away as he could get it. The rug was rolled up and pushed back with the couch as well, leaving an amply empty area of solid wood flooring. It was scratched and marred with age, though he made sure there was no trace of dust or dirt to interfere. The demon would never really consider himself old-fashioned, but sometimes older ways were simpler. He couldn’t risk the Prince of Hell _hanging up_ on him. 

Circles were traced around the room, the origin point about four feet across. He went with layered protection to mask the window, which would hopefully prevent anyone from seeing, at the very least, outside and figuring out the location of where they were. He couldn’t take any risks. Contacting Beelzebub was a risk enough. But he needed to know. If what Gabriel was saying was true, that the prince had offered to take Aziraphale into the same clearance level, Crowley would know exactly how careful he had to be. Not that any information changed his stance - he was not helping Aziraphale fall. He would sooner boil himself alive. 

The possibility that Gabriel hadn’t contacted Beelzebub was also very… sticky. He could have been lying about talking to them at all, and Crowley popping up to ask questions about him could clue them in to some very sensitive information. Namely, that Crowley was breaking his unspoken vow of not contacting Hell or its agents. That alone could tip the prince off to something very big, very _important_ going on. The last thing he wanted was Beelzebub asking questions - the second last thing he wanted was Hastur having any more motivation than usual to destroy him. 

But in the unlikely event that Gabriel was telling the truth, it would already mean that Beelzebub knew something was up. And he’d be playing an even more dangerous game than he already was. 

Nothing could ever be easy anymore, could it.

Knees pulled to his chest, he stared at the circle on the floor, glowing red and orange against the hardwood like gently stoked embers. He really didn’t want to do this.

Forty-five minutes later, he was scowling to himself as he covered the circle back up with the rug. Moved the couch and coffee table back. Laid on the couch, and sighed. Aziraphale wasn’t asleep. He couldn’t risk being walked in on summoning the prince of Hell. That would just be… Well. Not ideal. There was no lie he could think of to cover for himself. For all the angel knew, Crowley was just as done with Hell as he himself was done with Heaven. And dear - dear _someone_, that’s all he wanted to be. Done. With it all. He wanted nothing more than the false sense of security the past two years had given him, the cautious freedom they’d allowed themselves. 

In that moment, he was furious. Rightfully enraged that Gabriel would dare approach him, after all this time, with something like that. He knew Heaven tended to _outsource_, but this was… This was just _vile._ Crowley wasn’t sure if he’d rather have had them approach any other demon for the job, and he surprised himself as he hissed quietly. If they _really_ wanted it done, surely they would have spoken to someone much more willing to actually do the tempting. No, he was sought out for a reason. Gabriel knew that somewhere, deep down, the selfish and demony bits of Crowley the demon tried so hard to ignore would find the offer extremely attractive. The idea of having Aziraphale to himself, _finally_, was as handsome as it was deplorable. Crowley knew more than anything, despite the annoying connotations of being expected to contact Heaven and behave in a certain manner, Aziraphale held tremendous pride in what he was. He may not have represented Heaven any longer, but he represented the goodness of himself, the goodness of humanity as a whole. And, in some small part, the goodness he seemed so desperately to want Crowley to see in himself, too. 

And Gabriel had known, that in spite of it all, the demon would consider that point irrelevant.

For just one moment, Crowley did. And it terrified him.

This fact only served to make him more wary of just what they were up to, and feel _perfectly_ awful, and he curled up on the couch under the blanket Aziraphale had lovingly draped over him. 

Very briefly, he flirted with the idea of just leaving. It would tear his heart into little pieces to leave Aziraphale, but the further he was away from him, the less likely Heaven was to try anything funny. They certainly weren’t going to do it themselves. Sure, there were other demons that cavorted with angels, it certainly wasn’t unheard of. But did they trust any of those demons to be able to get close enough to tempt Aziraphale? He blessed again, under his breath, the entirety of his ire aimed at Gabriel. If only he hadn’t heard him out. Hell, he could have blocked him out and only pretended to hear him. The moment his offer had entered his mind - the moment he’d so much as _mentioned_ the possibility of them being together, Crowley had been doomed. 

Even if he never attempted to make Aziraphale fall, the idea would surely haunt him forever.

But leaving… he couldn’t do that to him. He couldn’t leave his angel with an eternity of wondering _why_. Knowing him, Aziraphale would sooner assume it was for something he’d done to offend Crowley rather than think it was for his own protection.

Somehow, that idea made him even more nauseated than the one he’d already been worrying about, and he decided to shut his brain off again and sleep - hoping the rest would ease some of the pain in his heart. He could only hope for a better tomorrow.


End file.
